Oh, Grow Up
by es99se
Summary: It can be so infuriating how the Light and Dark leaders carry on all the time. Grow up, why don't you? Or rather...


**Note: I can't remember when Kendra Dumbledore died. I therefore claim artistic license. Also, last I checked, I am not J. K. Rowling. Can you wait while I go check my birth certificate? **

The fire flashed emerald as a tall figure stepped through it. He looked around, scanning the room. "Well, are we all here?" he asked.

"Everyone except Severus," Molly Weasley replied.

"Oh, Severus is at a Death Eater meeting," Dumbledore said.

"Figures Snivellus would rather be with Death Eaters than here," a voice muttered. Dumbledore shot a warning glance at Sirius Black, who gave him an innocent puppy-dog look. With that, the Order of the Phoenix began plotting, planning, and otherwise discussing the war.

**LINE BREAK**

Several hours later, just as the members were about to leave, the fire morphed once again to a deep green. Out stepped Severus Snape, holding a goblet steaming with orange liquid and a silver bowl decorated with mystic runes, this filled with a gleaming silver liquid. He set the Pensieve down on the long meeting table and nodded at it. With curious glances, one by one the members dipped into the Pensieve.

An observant onlooker would have noted the pattern of changing expressions on their faces. Before each person viewed the memories, their faces betrayed bewilderment and anticipation. As they emerged from the silvery depths, they displayed surprised joy and excitement, which eventually morphed into a thoughtful frown. What was in that Pensieve could change the course of the entire war and of all of their lives.

**LINE BREAK**

_A Few Hours Earlier_

_The meeting room was cold and dark. Shivers passed through the assembled ranks of Death Eaters, some from the chill and some from fear. All eyes were fixed on their master, the great Lord Voldemort, who in turn was watching the mahogany door. No one dared utter a sound for fear of the psychotic megalomaniac's torture._

_Suddenly and noiselessly, the huge door swung open, revealing a greasy-haired, ebony-clad Potions Master. Tall and imposing, he strode towards the front of the room and took his seat at the long table. At last the silence was broken._

"_You're late." Voldemort's cruel voice rang throughout the room._

"_I apologize, my lord." Snape's face was calm and impassive, betraying no emotion. "I was bottling the potion you assigned me." His slender-fingered hand darted into a pocket in his robes, emerging with a large jar of a blood-red potion._

"_That is no excuse. You should have finished on time," said Voldemort coldly. "Crucio."_

_The other Death Eaters looked away from Snape's writhing body, not wanting to be the next victims of Voldemort's terrible wrath._

_When Voldemort finally ended the curse, Snape took a deep breath before his face fell back into its cool, emotionless mask. With a wave of his hand, Voldemort began levitating the jar of scarlet potion over to him before Snape warned, "My lord, prolonged levitation could affect the potion's potency."_

_Voldemort let the jar fall onto the table, directly in front of Wormtail. "Pass it down, Wormtail," he commanded._

_With trembling hands, Wormtail gingerly picked up the jar and, seemingly changing his mind, putting it back down and sliding it across the table. The jar slid smoothly down the polished table until, when it had nearly reached its destination, it bumped into a knothole in the wood. The jar teetered precariously, wobbling back and forth… back and forth… back and forth…_

_With a loud thud it fell flat on the table and the lid came off. The formerly scarlet liquid, now a bright pumpkin orange from contact with the mahogany table, traveled the short distance to the head and splashed onto Voldemort. For an infinitesimal yet infinite moment, the world, as well as everyone else in the room, held its breath._

_No apparent change occurred. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief that the potion had had no effect. Voldemort even reached for his wand to punish Wormtail when…_

…_suddenly…_

_There was a loud cracking noise. Voldemort stiffened, froze, and began to change. His body shrank. His eyes faded to a deep brown. Grey hair began sprouting from his scalp. His skin darkened from deathly pale to a more normal, though still pale, tone. In one second the Dark Lord changed from a barely-human creature to a normal-looking elderly man. Another moment, and he was middle-aged. Soon, he was thirty, twenty, fifteen, ten… and it stopped. The Dark Lord, murderer of hundreds torturer of many more, was an eleven year old boy._

**LINE BREAK**

There was a deep silence as each person in the room digested what they had just viewed. Everyone in the room was thinking the same thing, although no one wanted to say it, for fear of what the answer might be. After some time had passed, Dumbledore finally voiced it. "Is it permanent?"

Everyone in the room was watching Snape, eager yet dreading to hear the answer. "It is," he responded, to visible relaxing and relief. That's why I was so late; I was testing the effect the wooden table had on the potion."

Dumbledore continued on. "Does he remember anything? How are the Death Eaters responding?"

"He does not recall anything that occurred beyond his tenth year," Snape responded. "The majority of the Death Eaters will settle down now that he is effectively gone. Others, like Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback, will need to be dealt with. But beyond that, the war is over."

The atmosphere in the room became a joyful one. Nobody could keep grins from their faces. The Order of the Phoenix began celebrating in a way they hadn't really been able to for a quarter of a century. Somebody eventually procured drinks, and all raised their glasses to a toast. Everyone cried out something else as they held their glasses.

"To Voldemort's defeat!"

"To the end of the war!"

"To lemon drops!"

As one, they all drank and set their goblets down, beaming wildly.

Unfortunately, not everyone in this world is blessed with superb fine motor skills. In Nymphadora Tonks' case, this was an understatement. To say that she was horribly, gruesomely, awkwardly clumsy was also an understatement. As she set her glass down, she nudged the goblet of orange, upsetting the liquid within. For the second time that night, it toppled out and spilled down the long table. This time, however, instead of spilling on the leader of the Dark, it spilled on the leader of the Light.

As the room froze, spellbound in their watching of Albus Dumbledore's transformation from an old, white-haired man to a decade-old boy, not a sound could be heard in the room.

**LINE BREAK**

Tom and Albus blinked, trying to digest what they had just heard. Finally, Tom carefully said, "So you're telling us that magic exists, that there is a large magical community, that Albus and I are important figures in this community, that through some mystical accident we have been de-aged, and finally, that this must be kept absolutely secret or the wizarding world will collapse."

The harried-looking Ministry employee nodded awkwardly, desperately wishing he was not involved. Only a select few had been told of this occurrence, those that were definitely not corrupt or self-serving, yet he wanted nothing more than to be back in his familiar job in the DMLE. "Well, yes, I guess that sums it up pretty well."

The young versions of Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore looked at each other and shrugged. _Oh, well,_ they figured,_ go with the flow, at least until you develop a plan._ If their adult counterparts had known that they were both thinking the same thing, they would have, well, not rolled in their graves, because they weren't technically dead, but at least have been suitably shocked and disgusted.

Albus broke the silence. "So, when do we start at Hogwarts? And until then, with whom will we be living?" He seemed for a moment to want to ask something else, but restrained himself. The other two pretended not to notice. Tom continued in a similar vein. "Are we wards of the state, or will our closest relatives claim us? You do know I have no relatives."

The Ministry employee glared at them. He knew that they were both far more intelligent than the average eleven-year-old. He supposed it was only to be expected – Riddle had grown up fending for himself, neglected at an orphanage, and although not much was known about Dumbledore's childhood, his father had been sent to Azkaban for attacking Muggles. Surely a child would mature greatly from that.

The bureaucrat shook off his thoughts and answered. "The Weasley family has agreed to take in the two of you. They will not be adopting you, so technically you have no legal guardian. Due to their _in loco parentis_ categorization, the Weasleys have all of the same powers as a guardian, excepting control of your bank accounts and money. Before you ask, they were very close to you, Albus, and…" He paused for a moment. No one was supposed to give Riddle any clues about his past. "Not so close with you, Tom, but the Ministry feels that it would be best not to separate the two of you."

Tom's eyes narrowed. _What was this man hiding from them?_ The boys' adult counterparts would now have been relieved to know the two were no longer thinking similarly. Albus, unlike Tom, was now reflecting upon his family. _Are Mother and Aberforth around? And… what about Ariana?_

**LINE BREAK**

"Hello, Albus, Tom," greeted Molly Weasley cheerfully. "I'm Molly, this is my husband, Arthur, and these are my kids, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny." She pointed each person out as she called their name. "Bill, Charlie, and P-Percy are… away, and these are Harry Potter and Hermione Granger."

Tom and Albus pondered that for a moment, trying to remember it, before giving up. "Ummm… can you repeat that?"

Molly laughed and repeated it more slowly. "Ron, Harry, and Hermione are in sixth year, Ginny's in fifth, and everyone else has already graduated – well, left Hogwarts anyway."

The two ten-year-olds developed glazed looks in their eyes as Mrs. Weasley delivered a monologue further expounding on each member of the family. Noticing this, Hermione stepped in to rescue them. "Why don't I show them around, Mrs. Weasley? I'm sure the boys are very tired."

Mrs. Weasley beamed. "Of course, Hermione. How could I not have thought of that?" No one commented. It was indeed unusual for the matriarch of the huge family not to offer suffocating hospitality. "Go on, show them to their room. We can get to know them in the morning."

**LINE BREAK**

"So, do you want bacon and eggs, toast, cereal, or pancakes?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

Albus quickly asked for some cereal and Tom politely requested a slice of toast. Mrs. Weasley promptly gave Albus a huge bowl brimming with cereal and milk and Tom a plate stacked full with toast, maple syrup drizzled generously on top. Albus dove in, but Tom frowned. "This is… a lot," he ventured.

"Don't be silly, you need to put some meat on your bones," said Mrs. Weasley firmly. "Eat that up, and I have more for a second helping."

Tom started eating, commenting around mouthfuls, "Mrs. Cole always says – said – that food cost too much to be wasted on urchins like us." Everyone sitting at the table stiffened and exchanged awkward glances, not sure how to respond to that.

"What do you mean, wasted on urchins like you?" asked Albus indignantly. "It's not wasting, it's _eating_, and you're not an urchin. You're my friend."

Tom looked at him. "You don't mean that. Nobody likes or helps someone like me without an ulterior motive."

Jaws dropped around the table. To hear such a thing from such a young child…

"I don't care what anyone says," Albus insisted stubbornly. "You're my friend, plain and simple."

Tom stared curiously at him, as if looking at a strange and interesting specimen countering all previous assumptions of nature's laws. After a moment of deliberation, in which it seemed the balance of the whole universe was being weighed, he smiled and returned to his toast.

**Many thanks to my **_**awesome**_** beta, vovo611! You rock!**

**The above line was inserted by none other than vovo611, who will have my head if I erase it.**

**Lastly, I apologize for the nonstop cliché and awkward writing. I wrote this over a year ago, which is really no excuse, but hopefully the next chapter will be better. As soon as I come up with a good plot, that is.**

**Reviews, reviews, reviews. Yes, yes, shameless begging.**


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